Countries and Cultures

Poem 1
A Prayer For The World
By Paul McCann

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The world we live in is such a beautiful place ,
but all the wars that go on are just a disgrace .
We need to consider love every now and then ,for who we are and then for what ,
why ,
where and when .
Who we are's important ,
it's a wholeness of one .
What we choose to do in life affects everyone .
We can pull the trigger or throw away the gun .
Why can't we love our enemies to overcome ,
the barriers and problems between tribes of man .
Why can't we reason things and try to understand ,
all things are equal and created by Gods hand .
Where there is love there's peace and hope
between all men .
So let us pray for one another now and then .
When this beautiful world we share
comes to an end ,
let us then be united forever .
Amen .

Poem 2
About Ireland
By Paul McCann

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I ts in the emerald of her colour green.
R emembered in history as Dark Roisin.
E rin you are dressed in the mystic of time .
L ove speaks of your beauty in manys a rhyme .
A bout you are stories beyond weakth to hold .
N ow thats why your people are so rich in soul .
D welling is the truth that can't be bought or sold .

Poem 3

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The Walk From Bethlehem
By Paul McCann
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Each journey begins with the first step and each step taken carefully .

Walking around boundaries to discover roads to eternity .

On their journey Mary and Joseph had a difficult path to tread .

They were bound for Bethlehem where the birth of Jesus awaited .

The road to a place where their way was guided by the light of a star .

This journey through the dark was made easy and the miles made not so far ,

A link between God and man had presented not much complication .

Parallel roads between Bethlehem and our final destination .

He invites us to share the miracle and harmony of his birth

Jesus broke down the barriers that were placed between heaven and earth .

Although there are many roads we will all meet on that glorious day .

From the stable door in Bethlehem he emerged to show us the way

From here on Earth to heaven above we follow him and do what's right .

Wisdom and insight brings us to higher ground where boundaries exist .

Rules of the road are seeds of faith planted by Gods hand on lifes journey .

Acceptance was the way and he walked from Bethlehem to Cavalry .

He walked with reconciliation ,

healing , and emancipation .

He responded with love to violence and showed up victimization .

To follow him we discover Bethlehem within , giving new birth

A new understanding of life and knowing the value of self worth .

Christmas is a time to reflect on the journey .

We all walk as one from this place here on earth , to a new home in heaven which soon will come .

Poem 4

In 50 United States
By Paul McCann

In Rockport Massachusetts they built a house of newspaper.

In Memphis Tennessee Elvis built a home called Graceland there .

Alabama the yellow hammer built a rocket to the moon .

In Groveland California they built the iron door saloon .

South Carolina’s peaches are the sweetest you’ve ever had .

The sunshine state of Florida with Cape Canaveral’s launch pad .

As the surf crashes down , Arcturus rises above Hawaii .

You can hear the soft chime of the world peace bell in Kentucky .

The great land of Alaska within its artic circle home .

While in Atlanta Georgia there’s a mountain of Granite stone .

They say that New York never sleeps and the streets are busy there .

While in Nevada there’s a ghost town with vultures in the air .

The Independent man stands in Rhode Island on a house top .

The Indiana cross roads where traffic never seems to stop .

In New Jersy some streets are monopolized , it’s a pity .

Belleville , Wisconsin is the UFO capital city .

The gem state of Idaho with its lava and soda springs .

Colorado red marble what a touch of splendor it brings .

An Arkansas courthouse with a famous Christmas light display.

In Delaware the Indians are the American way .

Grand Canyon Arizona is such an awesome sight to see .

In Washington there are rain forests so unique in beauty .

There in Connecticut He who transplanted still sustains .

In a Texas wild life refuge you’ll find the last whooping cranes.

Illinois’s deadly tornadoes come swirling down from the sky .

In Mississippi Choctaw’s played stickball in the years gone by .

Virginia ,the birthplace of a nation , oh how big she’s grown .

In Maryland there’s an illusion of a bridge made of stone .

Rock City in Kansas is where the rocks are a big as homes .

Iowa’s Snake Alley has a crooked street that no one condones .

You’ll have to see the town of the large canoes in Missouri .

Michigan’s floating post office brings mail to ships out at sea .

The swamps of Louisiana is where Cajun music is heard .

Independence in North Carolina first declared the word .

Oklahoma is where the Cherokee Nation had a home .

In Portland Maine , Longfellow came with a passion for a poem .

in Minneapolis the pop up toaster was invented .

Portland ,Oregon . The city of roses , heaven scented .

In forests of west Virginia mountaineers are always free .

Wyoming is a state with equal rights and liberty .

In Utah the people are said to be higher up than some .

There’s a long winter in Ohio followed by construction .

In the green mountains of Vermont you can escape the rat race .

South Dakota is known to have great faces and great places .

Philadelphia ,Pennsylvania ,home of the liberty bell .

In North Dakota is where chief Sitting Bull finally fell .

The road less travelled is in New Hampshire goes to Exeter .

The great American desert , Nebraska was once referred .

In the state of New Mexico flows the mighty Rio Grande .

Montana’ s golden eagle soars above this special land .

Poem 5
Traffic Under The Sydney Harbour Tunnel

By Paul McCann
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Another man made marvel an engineering feat ,
steering its way from North to South ,
drilled with precision and skill .

The Sydney Harbour tunnel she alleviates the bridge by easing peak hour traffic that stood still .

An over spill under the stir of ferry boats .
Out of sight harbour lights .

The tunnel takes the traffic flow .
We all pay as we go to where Manly beach awaits with seagulls on the shore ,
or to the commercial centre where skyscrapers seem to grow.

It came one day back in 1992 when all the traffic first crossed the Sydney harbour tunnel .
Caught up in the flow of a high octane zone .
Night and day.
All we do is make our way .
We are free to come and go .
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Poem 6

America Today
By Paul McCann

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With everything thats happened a lot has been said
Wars have come and gone and we have buried our dead .

The past has past,we have to live here in the now
America here today is different somehow.

The streets of tomorrow , we have yet to walk on .

But the foundations are the same we build upon.

In New York we still have the homeless on the street .

Help where you can .
Look around, get them to their feet .

Someone's son or daughter , abused somewhere in town .

The rich became poor and the walls came falling down .

In the USA Freddy and Fanny have gone .

Wall Street dived and down went major corporations .

In Detroit retrenchments without explanations .

They've just reopened the Statue Of Liberty .
What does the word freedom mean in society ?

Camp David's chapels begun communications ,
with new nondenominational relations .
Guantanamo Bays closing down operations .

Americas talking to all leading nations .
With dedication there can be a way forward .
Out of confusion and to be in one accord ,
with what's going on in America today .
The media influence is in all we say .
Let me remind you what's most important to us
Listen one thing that never changes ,
In God we trust .

Poem 7

The Lament Of Tyre
By Paul McCann'
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On the first day of the first month near Babylon .
A mountain of jewels and gold the King sat upon .
With the huge wealth collected
the King wore a smile and in his Kingdom vanity ruled for a while .

What good is wealth and beauty if no one can see,
The King needed a voyage to boast vanity .

Carpenters from Bylos came and a ship was built .
They loaded it with treasure right up to the hilt.

Oarsmen from Sidon rowed
the ship blistered of hand .
An East wind from heaven
wrecked the ship far from land .
Sing a funeral song the good Lord said to me .
For Tyre will be buried in the depths of the sea .
This is my song Lord I will sing it just for you .
Bitter in heart is he that wept the whole day through .
Jealous of what he could not have and could not be
His Kingdom was doomed to the bottom of the sea .
Where now is the beauty that he though was so great ?
What happened all the treasure from the peoples gate ?
How long is an eternity ?
What is his fate ?
Behind the walls of Hades forever to wait .
There is no place left for him at the banquet feast .
Lament not for the King of Tyre who was the beast

Poem 8
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In The East Peace Will Come
By Paul McCann
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In The East Peace Will Come
Across the trees of Lebanon fires raged as the sparks of war flew through an angry wind into a black and a worried sky .

The wrath of Israel was in the flames and the names of the dead were called . out on both sides and missiles continue to fly .

Tanks pound out shell after shell into a firey hell as the ashes are turned into the ashes of what is yet to come .

When all is said and done and the guns of war are silent ,
peace will come tomorrow a long way ahead of Armageddon .

Wars are situations that escalate and dissipate ,
There is something much bigger and stronger than all of our wars are .

There is another situation that turns enemies into normal people
Yes , when peace comes it brings an end to war .

By Paul McCann

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Poem 9
Hell Of A Holy War
By Paul McCann
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This so called holy war has been going for so long now ,
but if they think that war is right then they are wrong somehow .

The tanks roll on and guns fire
and missiles don't fall in love .
Panic hits both day and night .
Towns are crushed .
People push and shove .

A hell of a holy war .
With fruits so bitter to taste .
Good going bad
and life that can't be replaced . .
What a waste .

When its an eye for an eye ,
and then a tooth for a tooth .
Everyone will be blinded ,
if they can't see the truth .

Immune are they to the love of God .
Wrapped up in their cause .
They think they're right .
With their immoral code
and made up laws .

Do not kill .
Happy are the peacemakers
lets start trying .
If love could conquer us all ,
there would be no more dying .

There would be peace on Earth.
There would be no reason to fear .
Until then there will be these holy wars year after year .

With the bloodshed on the streets
and many people dying .
God's given us his holy commandments,
there's no denying .

Peace is all that war defeats
and no war can be holy .
Man is wrong
he needs to understand that it's not solely,

up to him to justify killing
for God ,
is ok .
But in the end
theocracy will have the final say .

Poem 10

A Chance For Iraq
By Paul McCann
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As another explosion shook Baghdad
a plea cried out from the rescue workers there .

It fell on an international journalist
who held his camera up in the air.

Then its lens moved along the streets
where people waited and prayed hard in the rain .

The breath of life rested a while ,
then made it's way to those who's trust was hard to gain .

Looting had started in Baghdad and blame hide from their faces for all the world to see .

People leapt up into the air and hope flew all the way back to the powers that be .

All of these people for a moment held their freedom and it was the first for a while .

Journalists lit candles ,
Soldiers kept a tight upper lip,
and someone saved a smile .

As statue’s fell to the ground
The people of Iraq frantically waved a palm branch .
Someone from the crowd in a soft breath whispered these words ,
"At last Iraq has chance "

Poem 11
Zulu Sense
By Paul Mc Cann

She lay there like a cobra ready to strike,
With a fixed stare she looked deep into my eyes .

She was motionless .
I was entranced .
She was empty of emotion .
I was hypnotised .

I felt easy in the grip of her sixth sense.
As she spoke within my spirit realised .

“I’m a Zulu “ she said and smiled .
Her teeth illuminated the darkness .
I was surprised .

Like a wild beast stalking its prey ,
she drew near then she said ,
I speak to you Zulu wise .”

Like a mirror she was reflective and still .
“What I say to you . I see it in my eyes .”
I heard every word
as her gentle voice in my subconscious slowly began to rise .

Something inside me understood .
All of the things that I never before had realised

Poem 12
The Lonely Streets Of Bundanoon
By Paul McCann
I walk the streets of Bundanoon and see the wild flowers bloom ,
the day is almost over and I’m staring at the moon.
I’m thinking of the dawn ahead and wish it would begin .
Sleeping rough is really cold and no one will ask me in .
Ghost like shadows they cross the street right there before my eye .
If you should step inside my doorway there you will hear me cry .
I’m wrapped up in some newspapers I found inside a bin .
The winters almost over now and spring will soon begin .
I stepped inside a sacred place and said a prayer for you .
cemeteries and silence have now replaced the love we knew ,
I placed a rose there at your grave and lay there for a while .
I walk the lonely streets here with the memory of your smile .
Golden sands are far away from the doorways where I sleep .
But I can hear the waves crash down where waters run so deep .
new horizons are just hazy lines stretching out to me .
For a future without you here is where I have to be .
So I’ll keep on walking the lonely streets of Bundanoon .
Where people they seem to pass by like shadows on the moon .

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Poem 13

Bike Ride To Paris

Along the streets and over the mountains they pedal on between gauntlets of applauding spectators in the Tour De France.

Like an arrow of flesh moving through the countryside their bicycles are propelled not by feet, but by human endurance .

Each rider tested, then rested, as another one of the team is asked to be strong and find the strength to carry them on .

To chase after that chance to capture the yellow jacket, or to be King of the mountain . And the miles to Paris are long .

Sprints are often close and the winner of each stage takes a page from today’s map and plans for the wonders tomorrow may bring .

Every team give their very best and open the way for the final sprint home . In the end its really a combined thing .

By Paul McCann
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Poem 14
Fire Fighters Victoria 2009
By Paul McCann

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On a black weekend in February ,
nobody could have stopped .
what came to be .

All across Victoria bush fires raged
like an insane monster freed
from it’s cage .
The flames leapt high as sparks began to fly through an angry wind into a smokey sky .
A change in the wind brought more than worry .
Everyone left homes in such a hurry .
Hundreds were killed in the rush to get out ,
Flames raced up the hills and then turned about .
Brave fire fighters came to reclaim some ground .
Aware of the danger that could surround .
There was a look on all of their faces ,
like staring at death in twenty paces .
It was harder to fight that to ignore ,
But each day more tragedies lay in store .
Fire fighters prayed in the blazing flames ,
In little towns and along county lanes .
Marysville was completely wiped away ,
Not a house left on that terrible day .
But the fire fighters fought on without rest ,
Where raging fires put them to the test .
Every night in ashes of the day .
The lonesome fire fighter hides it away .
The hurt and the pain of all what he has seen
In the place where the deadly bush fires been .
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Poem 15
Freedom Begins In Beijing- 2008
By Paul McCann

It was the eighth day of the eight month , 2008 .
The place was Beijing and everything was looking great .
Heroes and heroines will emerge in the next two weeks ,
chasing gold ,will be their goal ,
in the Beijing Olympics .
The opening ceremony there was really something ,
drums were thumping,
dancers jumping ,
adrenalin pumping .
China opened up the door
and the world said how are you .
Media were a window,
and the west was looking through .
All eyes were on the birds nest ,
as the show went on the road ,
the games were to be televised
across the entire globe .
High skills will be the tender and the play is on demand .
Setting new world records ,
in the water and on the land .
In Hong Kong and Beijing,
stadium's are slowly filling .
Athletes and anthems with crowds packed to over-spilling .
Now’s the time to enjoy what the Olympics have in store .
Around the entire planet ,
you can hear the mighty roar .
As Beijing begins the games ,
the party is everywhere .
Freedom is a flame that burns ,
in the Chinese open air .

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Poem 16

Dakar With A Difference
By Paul Mc Cann

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The adventure to go beyond the white lines of a highway and discover unknown lands through routes made of sand , scrub and clay .

Through ten countries drove the trail blazers from Paris to Dakar .
Some on motor bikes , some in a buggy and some in a car .

Trucks and quads and four wheel drives with each one hoping their one wins .
With eyes on the map and hands on the wheel the challenge begins .

Sandstorms in the Tenere desert and accidents in choppers .
When cars get stolen out there its no use calling the coppers .

Desert drivers who love off road cars ,have confronted their fears ,
In rally cars throughout Africa for the last thirty years .

But now with murder on the road and terrorists on the loose ,
The Paris to Dakar rally was transferred on to other routes .

In 2009 for the very first time they will go ,
on the tracks of South America , the Dakar rally show .

A round trip to Buenos Aires .
All hands on the gear lever
Revved up and ready to go ,
Before the after burn fever .

For the Dakar rally it’s the beginning of a new day .
They’ve got to love their cars and avoid those pot holes on the way .

With each difficulty that awaits them so does the finish .
The dedication to this sport can never be diminished .

Rock on towards Chile and between the oceans steal a hole .
Its a hotel for the night where friendship plays a leading role .

So its Dakar with a difference in 2009 .
With history to make and many memories left behind .

Poem 17
In Memory Of 9/11
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By Paul McCann
On that September Day there was nothing to say .
I watched in silence that day
as my my breath ran away .
You could say something bad
You could say something mad
you could say something sad
but what more can I add .
They thought they had the right
to go hi jack that flight
into hell and heaven
It was 9-11
New York City
I cried .
All those people died .
I pray and remember
every September .
For all who had died .
Their memory survived .

.

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Poem 18

Life In A Small World
By Paul McCann

Black skin .
White skin .
Yellow skin.
Red .

God knows how many prayers are said .
Muslim .
Hindu .
Christian .
Catholic .

Irish .
English .
Arab .
Slavic .

Fat .
Tall .
Thin . Small .
Big .
Young and old .

Each formed in our own unique mould.

See how this world is passing by .

Can we ever see eye to eye ?

Living in the global village .

There's no need to rob and pillage .

As one people under one roof .

We could discover living proof .

That we can love before we leave .

We can learn to live.
Not to grieve .

In a world where we all belong .

Where racists and killing are wrong.

Every country has a name .

All creeds and culture are the same .

We are humankind together .

There are changes in the weather .
There's problems that we need to fix .

With hope , faith and love in the mix .

No one's a burden if we care .

No one's hungry if we all share .

A true belief for one and all ,

is where real love answers the call .

We need to get the focus right.

We need to see things in the light .

We must pull together as one.

The puzzle of life's not yet done .

We need to see the whole picture .

All the bits fit in round and square .

The big picture we need to see.
In this small world
we must agree .

Poem 19
Pictures On A Wall In Israel
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My friend was an Arab before the wall went up .
He’s still an Arab but we don’t see each other at all .

Borders and boundaries surround us .
We have our armies that protect us from insurgents and missiles that fall .

In Israel they’ve built a wall between the Jews and the Arabs ,
And on different sides the kids can play ball .

One day they took buckets of paint and they painted a scene of what it could have looked like if there was no wall .

Expressions splashed around the boundaries of Jerusalem .
Aren’t we all one tribe of Abraham after all .

Paul McCann

Poem 21

0n Cobblestones- East London
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I stood near Bethnal Green Station in East London - It was past twilight .

I stood alone on the cobblestones there .
The trains where on strike that night .

It was cold on the cobblestones and somehow
I had to make it home .

I walked on as the fog fell down towards
the light of a public phone .

Cobblestones sit under soft moonlight at night .
Such a romantic sight .

The phone in the phone box rang .
But nobody answered the call that night .

The wind passed me by on the corner .
Where the Good shepherd mission stood .

On cobblestones a taxi cab drove
around Bethnal Green’s neighbourhood .

Poem 22
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Poem about the difficulties settling into a new country before and after being naturalized

Reflections Of Life

By Paul McCann

I wasn’t that old when we up and sold :
everything was left far behind .

I needed more time , the choice wasn’t mine
Leaving was always on my mind .

I’d just turned 16 further fields were not green ,
And the weather was so hot .

It was 72 and I didn’t know what to do
my mind was shot .

My Irish friends had all died ,
I was hurting inside
For those who had gone .

In a new country my family and me
Found a way to carry on .

After leaving Belfast . a few weeks passed ,
And to hospital I was sent .

Someone’s practical joke went up in smoke
I was burnt in an accident .

An apprentice was I .
But didn’t know why
I had met this cruel fate

Feeling down in the dumps ,
couldn’t walk for months
welcome to the work force mate .

Can’t tell you how I felt ,
the cards were dealt and I had to play out the hand .

No denying the crying time
For the stranger here in a foreign land .

Tried to communicate but people couldn’t relate
Here In Aussie Pubs .

Where do I begin I couldn’t fit in .
So I found an escape in drugs .

My life cut with a knife .
Hi-jacked by hard narcotics in 72 .

Hard fisted and twisted
Didn’t know what to do,
Returned to you know who .

To my home and Belfast town ,
They took me in,
tied me down and zapped my brain .

I became a person nobody knew .
I was to blame , I went insane .

In 1975 I was barely alive
But where is my home ?

I returned to Sydney and tried to see
A new Aussie identity .

Re-invented not demented
It was time to return to Mum and Dad ,

I took on a job and shook off the mob
and won the respect I once had .

But still they could not understand
The accent of a man from Belfast town .

Not accepted or understood
worked as a migrant should in hardship down .

But I thought I must be smart ,
I understood their part as strange as it was .

Although I felt trapped I had to adapt
To a new country and its laws .

II got on my feet with new friends to meet
and tried to forget what I’d lost .

Memories I’ll keep of days that won’t sleep
Thinking what emigrations cost .

I was sent to Chelmsford by some doctors word
Deemed a suicidal case .

What nightmare in the basement there
The experiments were a disgrace .

Abandoned but alive I had to survive
the late nineteen seventies .

Deep sleep therapy for my troubled memory
put me down on my knees .

A royal commission went through
And then they knew the truth of what went on .

The word went around and they closed the place down ,
With no compensation drawn .

Oh God I cried out
don’t let me doubt this is something that you cannot fix .

My guts were spilled when my sister was killed
and my mind with anger was mixed .

In 1986 I drove where the sticks
Lay around this arid land .

A part of me needed this sanctuary to discover
what was Gods plan .

I left Australia again on a jet plane
But got robbed and beaten up .

In London you see with no identity
The doors are easily shut .

As a citizen I contacted emigration
And waited for help .

Three years homeless ,
it was atrocious , the government left me on a shelf .

In 1990 I had to flee
back to Sydney is where I was led

There on my bed questions in my head
why couldn’t emigration have said .

I was one their own far away from home
And in need of help from them .

So my experience has been at a migrant’s expense
To be welcomed ,

Its a heavy load and a hard road
As an emigrant with no resource .

So believe me when your country leaves you
You’ll have to find some other course .

Gods spirit is there in all the despair
As a friend you’ll find he is near .
. .

I’ve written some stuff and hope its enough ,
Of just what I’ve been through down here .

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Poem 23
Ode For Ben Bulben
By Paul McCann

1

Once more to go , beyond County Sligo ,
With thoughts of the country I’ve come to know .
A vision beyond Ben Bulbens delight .
Where dark clouds part to the morning sunlight .
Twelve misty peaks over green grassy glens ,
Displayed there are natures high clustered Bens .
From the ground to the top are paths to tread ,
For the pilgrims to ascent where they’re led .
Who hears pilgrims prayers in heavenly flight ,
As angels wait bathed in morning sunlight .

2
Generations of Gaels soft spoken words
Have been carried by wings of the birds .
In a rapturous song perfectly sung .
on twelve peaks strange shadowy shapes have clung .
Thick are the clouds found to be coming down
In a mist covering this holy ground .
Oh what a sight welcomes all those who might ,
find their way to the mountain top at night .
A star clustered show at County Sligo ,
Shines a glittering ethereal hello .

3

Majestic the sight from heavenly height,
As on the summit humble prayers take flight .
God has cradled there in heavens soft glow ,
Something of a miracle to bestow .
A beauty rare, you can never compare ,
All we can do is for that moment share .
A grateful prayer for all that we see
Oh what splendour to my God glory be .
So if your feet are set on a path there ,
come back home safe on a wing and a prayer .

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Poem 24

Little Redcloud
By Paul McCann

As a boy his father challenged him
to ride bareback on a wild horse .
So he taught himself to throw a lasso
and rope in that awesome force .
But the horse rose up and bolted
dragging little Red Cloud in its dust ,
But he held on tight with all his might
and then with one almighty thrust
he threw his end of the rope towards a tepee
pegged deep in the ground .
The horse stopped running and then suddenly
it began to come around .
Red Cloud spoke and the crazy horse was broke
and the wild within was tamed .
A bond of friendship grew between the two
And a bareback ride was made .
For one so young Red Cloud clung on
and neither fell off or was afraid .

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Poem 25

Signs Of The Times 2009
By Paul McCann

So in a year when things went crashing harder and faster and natural disasters were seen ,was the real thing plastic or real ask yourself that before signing your name on the bottom line .

There were so many refugees and asylum seekers hoping to escape from tragedy ,reaching out to help and asking for help is what is evident during 2009 .

The first black American president emerged to awaken the world from its suffering and we have seen the effects of slavery , we know the score of the hardship brought on by greed .

There are new methods of music and song that keep us positive when all seems lost and so wrong . We have new ways to gather and share information and globally we can all write and read .

Leaders of nations had to look at a positive progression out of global recession and show empathy and concern to many people who were in great need and real poverty .

Some seeds were sewn and new roots established between environmentalists and governments and new ways to reduce emissions were found as the world is getting warmer by the degree .

The strength of local communities came together to help victims of the bush fires and floods and when tsunamis and earthquakes struck there were many people who were trapped in rubble and sludge .

But international relief came to assist and pulled people out alive and love was there in a real sense of the word as they all began to push and shove when nothing wanted to budge .

Dramatic photographic images captured moments in 2009 that portray the fragile world in which we live in a digital way and in an instant we can relate .

Writers of poetry and makers of music have been reflecting these images and more .
New technology has brought us twitter and the smart phone with faster ways to communicate .

Before 2009 closes its door I think we should stop and appreciate what was and how wonderful life can be when ever we care about one another .
God knows its true .

New communication has enlightened the world and we are still talking about doing more and helping each other out of difficulties .
I think the human race is ok , don’t you ?

Poem 26

New Oreleans 2005
By Paul McCann'

On a month they call September in the year 2005 .
The people of New Orleans did all they could to stay alive .
On their rooftops people sat when Katrina had been and gone .
Watching and waiting for help to come, trying to carry on .

I cannot swim and I fear the waters rising up on me .
The overflow has turned the city into a rolling sea .
New Orleans is washed away and people have no where to go .
A toxic sweep in waters deep has a deadly undertow .

I cannot swim I fear the water, but no one hears my screams ?
I'm sitting on a rooftop somewhere that once was New Orleans .
I will have to stay up here a while there's no place else to go .
All the alligators in the lakes are in the overflow .

I cannot swim, I fear the water may rise above my head,
and very soon I may be sleeping beneath a riverbed .
If only I had a boat the water wouldn't bother me,
because then I could float on the water creeping up on me .

I cannot swim but fear no more , because now I’m safe and dry .
As I'm sitting in a helicopter high up in the sky .
Down below I see nothing but water, thank God I’m alive,
I didn’t drowned in New Orleans September 2005 .

By Paul McCann

.

Poem 27

The Grass Is Greener In Eire

By Paul McCann

.

If you've time to drop in for a while
discover the beauty of the Emerald Isle .

There's donkeys to ride through green countryside ,spray for your face that blows in with the tide .

Gifts to be bought and big fish never caught .
Wishes are granted with only a thought .

Jigs for the feet as cows walk down the street,

Sights for sore eyes that TV. couldn't beat.

There's castles as big as mountains and more ,
like gold dust swept up from the cottage floor .

Shamrocks of green upon hills to be sold ,where roses are redder than blood I'm told .

The grass is always greener over there ,There's music and laughter everywhere .

Whisky from Waterford bottled in Cork ,Poteen for the Pontiacs in New York .

There's water from Wexford , porter from Down ,
Girls in Galway dancing reels ,swinging round .

There's the harp or the pipes,
music so fine ,Drinking in the pubs after closing time .
You'll have the time of your life ,
come and see ,
Irelands a holiday, we all agree .

Poem 28

Tribute To The American Eagle'
By Paul McCann

.Soaring free through the wide country and there's no other roof but the sky .
It's a well known fact with the wind at your back , its easier to fly .

I see with my eyes from my mountain disguise , fields of barley and hay .

I'd rue the day if they'd take them away or turn these blue skies to grey .

You're just like me , wild eagles are free , to escape out there into space .

Where planets spin , you can catch the wind and see the whole human race .

Poem 29
Tinnies In The Hand
By Paul McCann

.

You'll hear the kookaburras giggle .
You'll see the frill neck lizards wriggle in the outback of never never land,
but if you should see a kangaroo,
playing tunes on a didgeridoo ,
it's time to get yourself a tinnie in the hand .

You'll walk down a dusty beaten track,
with those hitching bush flies on your back in the outback of never never land ,
but if you should see a wallaby ,
chasing a wild dingo up a tree ,
it's time to get yourself a tinnie in the hand .

You could rope a crazy crocodile,
You could throw boomerang's half a mile in the outback of never never land ,
but if you should see the waratahs
flying like some pretty pink galahs ,
it's time to get yourself a tinnie in the hand .

You'll find that almost every night,
things are going crook, but she'll be right in the outback of never never land ,
but if you should see me china plate ,
tell him that there'll be no worries mateonce we all get ourselves a tinnie in the hand .

By Paul McCann

..

Poem 30
The Ringer From Casino

By Paul McCann.

He was eased up into the saddle and rode out his early years with the sound of a blacksmiths anvil always ringing in his ears
and the gossip spoke of the big smoke there a million miles away and Ross the Ringer from Casino who went there to earn his pay.

So Ross came down from the crossing place where the Richmond River flows and landed in the Southern Highlands open minded I suppose.
Although he knows lightening never strikes where the thunderbolts hide out Ross always keeps lookout just in case a storm might be about.

He is the ringer from Casino with a whip crack in the sky he musters up wild horses like plucking wings of a butterfly .
The ringer from Casino has an innocence you can’t deny .
They all call him Ross the boss and there is no evil in his eye

Sure enough early comes the morning when the whistles wet at night,
one eye open and the other closed, up and at them she'll be right, the ringer keeps chasing after his dreams and making future plans,
he takes it all within his stride holding the reins in both his hands.

.

Poem 31
We’ve Got Blow Flies At Our Barby

by Paul McCann

.

Those blasted buggers from the bush came round again today , they knew we were having a barbeque and came to say G’day .

We’ve got blow flies at our Barby they’re going sshhhed on me mate , they’re going sshhhed on me shrimps and they’re going sshhhed upon me plate .

I went inside the house to grab a couple of cans more but the buggers from the bush came to and went sshhhed right in the door .

We’ve got blow flies at our Barby they’re going sshhhed on me mate , they’re going sshhhed on me shrimps and they’re going sshhhed upon me plate .

Well they’re buggers for the bottle they’re going sshhhed on all me beer so I rang up quick the flick man to ppssed the buggers out of here .

We’ve got blow flies at our Barby they’re going sshhhed on me mate , they’re going sshhhed on me shrimps and they’re going sshhhed upon me plate .

They’re blasted blow flies they’re low flies blow flies from the bush I don’t what to do I think I’ll have to give them a push .

We’ve got blow flies at our Barby going sshhhed on me mate , they’re going sshhhed on me shrimps and they’re going sshhhed upon me plate .

.
Poem 32

Roadblocks on the highway
By Paul McCann

It was Sunday night and July was cold, the year was 88
when the truckies put up the barricades
round the highwways interstate .

Five hundred trucks stopped at Donnybrook
and the men were ready to fight .
They all took a stand there at Donnybrook
on that cold dark winter night .
l
It was no place for a man to be
with his wfie and kids to feed ,
the curse must leave ,
brave men stand together in times of need .
Tempers were pumping like gasoline ,
july was jumping with rage :
What a wicked world when a working man
can't earn a decent wage .

There's always trucks on the highways ,
pushing men to pumping pills ,
Its a hard graft for sure these days,
just to run a rig and pay the bills .
The roads keep rolling for miles and miles ,
people you better make way ,
this one's for all the truckies ,
who put the roadblocks on the highway .

It was Sunday night and July was cold,
the year was 88 ,
when the truckies put up the barricades
round the highways interstate .

Poem 33

The Troubles Have Passed

By Paul McCann
.

We put up the barricades, they tore them down again.
We couldn't see for CS gas through the window pane.
It was August 69, just after the parades.
There were no escapades behind fallen barricades.
Belfast was blasted left right and centre, then it came.
Internment.
Suspected guilty because of a name.
Out came the bullets and guns. Our town was torn apart.
We offered up our novenas to the sacred heart.
We kept our faith. We prayed for peace.
We held up our heads.
Our front door was kicked in. They dragged us out of our beds.
Snipers perched on the roof tops. Children played in the street.
Protected by the tapping of a different beat.
We said our prayers and stayed alive. We all grew up fast.
Mixed up in a situation caught up in the past.
Our houses burned around us.
Our graveyards where filled.
War drums have now been beaten; our blood has since been spilled.

'

Poem 34
Silent Donagahdee
By Paul McCann
.

I cast my bread upon the water,
I heard the words that spoke to me
I crossed the bridge where dreams had left me
standing at silent Donaghadee .

Wild flowers had gathered all around me ,
their colours they danced so gracefully
but just as dreams leave one in wonder
so did silent Donaghadee .

Cause its there .
Its there in the air .
Its in the sky ,
Its in a dream that I found this place called home .
Its there .
Its not really here at all ,
No , but its there in a space of its own ,

I walked on a path of a dream there ,
with no other things now to see ,
I thought it was best to be leaving .
Sweet dreams silent Donaghadee .

Its there .
Its there in the air.
Its in the sky .
Its in a dream that I found this place called home.
Oh its there . , its not really here at all ,
its there in a space of its own ,
Silent Donaghadee . Silent Donaghadee .
Silent Donaghadee .Silent Donaghadee

Poem 35
.

My Lovely Lee
by Paul McCann

I was standing alone on the bridge near the Quay looking out to sea .

The stars they shone down in my eyes as moonbeams kissed my lovely Lee .

My lovely Lee flows out to sea ,
on and on and on and on ,
its love flows straight back to me

Teardrops fall so slightly as the years have gone
like roads out of sight
For on this sea bird flies ,
the ripples are far below me .

My lovely Lee flows out to sea ,
on and on and on and on ,
its love flows straight back to me

Cold winds blow my misty memories that tend to sweep over me .
The snow it melts as winters gone but not for the beauty of the Lee.

It was long ago that I fell in love oh but how I wish that you could see,
those days I’ll never forget for it's lonely I am without you Lee.

My lovely Lee flows out to sea ,
on and on and on and on ,'
its love flows straight back to me

Poem 36
Waterloo
by Paul McCann

Beyond the bullring there’s a palace and something but who cares anyway when you’re down

Waterloo , You know its true , what can I do ,
cause no one seems to care Waterloo .

Should you fall out of favour well the streets they have a Saviour there’s cardboard castles there for you –

Waterloo

Two hundred and fifty teenagers in Cardboard City
and no one knows who’s begging who Waterloo .
how do you do ,
it could be you
but no one seems to care Waterloo .

Some get sicker some get better with no shelter from the weather .

Some are dying at the age of 22

Waterloo –

You know its true ,what can I do

NFA In London numbering a million and one

and there’s nothing that anyone can do Waterloo they come to you, broken in two and no cares at all Waterloo /

Fighting for a cup of soup ,the media get their scoop .
It’s dog eat dog with no bones left to chew :
Waterloo .

.

Poem 37

School In The Troubles

By Paul McCann

We walked to school each morning , frightened of guns on the street .

But no one said a word , it was a sign of being weak .

St Gabriels Secondary intermediate school ,

Hard men and boys , cool customers as a general rule .

At St Gabes we stood up tall and answered

Here , at roll call .

Happy to be present to do our best for one and all .

We lived through the unpleasant years with bomb blasts in our ears .

God knows how much we had to put up with ,

The tears ,the fears .

The news each day was all the same .

A list of names to add .

The daily roll call was shorter .Not here sir it was sad .

A prayer for those absent friends was said ,

As their names were read .

We were missing a few players in the football we played .

We sung Faith of our fathers and rung the bells on Sunday .

And prayed our friends would be at school the following Monday .

Going to school in the troubles from Ardoyne to the gate ,

Was a walk that you could very easily get to hate .

But with Gods help we did it ,

We went to school and shut out the rattle and hum ,

the beat of the drum , the screams and shout .

Saint Gabriel's the school playground is quiet now at last

and the way of life has changed in the streets around Belfast –

With reconciliation we hope peace will never end .

St Gabriels my old school you will always be a friend .

The roll book is closed now but memories never die ,

from each side of the Crumlin Road we've come to say goodbye .

On the ball , up the wall , walk or crawl ,

Success for us all .

Goodbye , my school is no more and they've closed over the door -

Now a new day has dawned and the message of peace is strong .

The future generation can live and peace will live .

Thank God for all of those the teachers who made it all worthwhile ,

leaving St Gabriels and we were doing it in style .

When ever we look back , I hope it can make some sense ,

St Gabriels life with you was a rich experience ,.

''
Poem 38

War On Wall Street 2009
By Paul McCann

.
October was cold on Wall Street and the year 2008.

When someone sold out the city and then they shut the Global gate .

Tempers frayed as the recession stayed , they were all ready to fight .

When the hammer came down they stood their ground , on a cold Octobers night .

Supported by the bail outs, it gave strength , to the economy .

Politicians where the victims and they where down upon their knee .

The bankers had been outnumbered by falling stocks that could not stand .

Brokers laid their cards on the table and they asked for a new hand .

Nothing was dealt and it all went down , it was a complete deadlock .

Costing the country a fortune with every tick of the clock .

With backs to the wall it was time to go back to a hard old school .

Lessons were taught and nothing was bought , it was time to keep real cool .

So best beware and reform the ranks ,for Wall Street can never fall .

A surge came and there was some gain which gave hope for the big and small .

The time was right to open up the gate and trade in these hard times .

Its too late to save the fat cats loss who have sat on their behinds .

The war is still raging on Wall Street and some are out of a job .

Who will renew the corporate queue and how much more can they rob ?

By Paul McCann

/
Poem 39
Back Streets Of Belfast
By Paul McCann

.
Without a word of a lie you can’t deny there’s something there.
Behind the walls on the peaceline Belfast has a kind of flair .
Schoolbag goalposts left lying down beside the burnt bonfire stack .
After all where does the ball go if there are no nets to wreck .
Looking for the Lagan flow when its an icy rink to skate.
Its like missing the leaves on trees and kissing on a blind date .
Around the corner near to where Shaftsbury Squares bathed in light.
Searching for a heart to maybe walk home on a Friday night .
Up the entry with no direction of which way you should go.
Its like running round in circles with a skipping rope you know .
There are no short cuts or Cul De Sacs about Belfast City .
There are just back streets where the talk always pretty witty .
Where there is no end to the freeway in a Black Taxi Cab
You’ll find Belfast has a soul and its secrets you’ll maybe grab.

.

Poem 40
Belfast Afternoons

Diamond buns and hay-stacks .
Coconut macaroons.
Baps and scones and currant squares.
Belfast afternoons.
Beano books and Sparkys,
annuals and cartoons.
Wee Dandy books and Toppers
and Belfast afternoons.
Toy windmills on birthdays
and blown up balloons.
Blowing bubbles,flying kites .
Belfast afternoons .
Snowball fights and conkers,
sucking and singing tunes .
But bonkers we're not
thanks to Belfast afternoons .

By Paul McCann

Poem 41

Belfast Barricades
By Paul McCann

To keep out the danger of the gun and bomb blast
they've put up barricades round the streets of Belfast.
There're barricades round the hearts of people in pain,
That need to be torn down and never built again.
These barricades are keeping out justice and peace;
Help us trust again and to believe in you.
It's hard to pull down the walls that seem to protect.
It's hard when you have never been shown respect.
Guns and bullets bombs and bricks have all played a part
To put the barricades around love of the heart.

Jesus, help us find a way;
Make our troubles cease.
Pull down the barricades;
Let your message get through.

.

Poem 42

Have You Been To Northern Ireland
By Paul McCann

.I wish you where in Carrickfergus ,
or fishing in Kilkeel .
If only you could catch a joke ,
big enough to make you squeal .
You could walk up paths by the Mountains of Mourne
in County Down .
See life here in Northern Ireland ,
it could turn your head around .
Bricks and sticks of gelignite ,
in the forgotten combat zone .
Up the Falls and in Derrys Walls ,
its a world unto its own .

.
Poem 43

Eire Square
By Paul McCann
,

There is a tree that grows in Blarney Street
beside the colour TV .
As people in Cork stand around drinking,
it's such a fine place to be .
If you've never been to Blarney Street ,
then you will never understand ,
The Craic there inside The Joshua tree,
with a pint glass in your hand .
If you have time I'll take you there,
to a place were time is slow and free .
We could plant down our feet and take a seat ,
inside the Joshua tree.
In Blarney Street we will celebrate
a place where some new friends can meet .
Could you borrow some time and come with me ,
I will keep it quite discreet .
At anytime of the night or day you'll find ,
the one's who really care .
The right time is really up to you ,
I hope to meet you in Eire Square .

.

Poem 44

West End My London Friend
By Paul McCann

.

Remember me old West End friend sure its been a long time .
What have you been up to these days?

Singing in the theatre threes dancing on the street .
Sure there's no stopping these West End ways.

From Covent Garden to the Palace
all the people in London dressed in fashionable style .

Hearts of gold old West End friend.
On the buses up Regent street .
Catch Black taxis for a while .

Chasing the night life .
Soho you know the best is yet to come here in the friendly old west .

Remember me my old friend sure its been a long time.
I really must catch up with some rest .

By Paul McCann

Poem 45

Waterloo Walkway'
By Paul McCann

Waterloo walkway cold platform of steel,

Please burden me not to the other side .

Say Waterloo walkway lets make a deal,

I need you to help me over the tide .

The tide on the Thames turns in shame today .

For homeless people have no place to stay .

Waterloo walkway I see over there,

The banks and the bridges that make your home .

Waterloo walkway carry me to where,

I can find love and only love alone .

The tide on the Thames under Waterloo,

Cannot hide the shame its turning on you .

Waterloo walkway foot steps for my fare .

I am in love with the way that you walk .

Waterloo walkway I will meet you there ,

I am in love with the way that you talk .

The tide on the Thames has swept me away .

I could not leave till the end of the day ,

Poem 46

Beyond Basra
By Paul McCann

Overhead the planes flew beyond Basra somewhere to a place touched by the suns morning light ,

where soldiers prayers go interceded by angels in the warfare of their heavenly flight .

Some airmen foresee beyond Basra to an eternity where rapturous songs are sung .

Through the dark thick clouds there's a high holy ground where heavenly realms Beyond Basra have clung .

It's a welcome sight for all those who fight their way through the bombs and guided missiles below .

Majestic the flight from its depth to its height where God calls home those to a heavenly glow .

Such beauty is rare you could never compare all you can say is my God your glory be .

If your mind is set to where the soldiers prayers are met beyond Basra then say one for me .

By Paul McCann

Poem 47
The Scottish Maiden
By Paul McCann'

.
Deary me poor Queen Mary headlong and bound heavily laden.
The privilege noble exit before the Scottish maiden.
Mary Queen of Scots was fast decapitated without her crown.
A bloody sight for sore eyes in front of all as the blade came down .
No one could have seen her smile at the blades edge on that cold day .
A flick of steel and her blood ran thick as they took her head away.

Poem 48

The French Romantic
By Paul McCann

I love your bohemian streets .

Yes I am falling for France.

The way your Parisienne greets the gentle face of romance .

Your Sacred Heart that is so true ,

Calling out to me and you .

The sky is dark . The sky is blue .

Skies are over me and you .

We turn to each other and go as the winds begin to blow .

Climbing a mountain to your arms , a kiss melts the Alpine snow .

Clinging to your heart I am home , bringing me here to your door .

Yes I am falling for France .like I have never done before .

.

Poem 49

The Stud At Inverness

By Paul McCann

There's a railway track near the bridge on a road that brings you through the gate there .

Rose beds and sheds and in stables thoroughbreds meet you with a friendly stare .

Around the stud at Inverness rolling hills make the visitors heads tilt .

There's no home anywhere that compares with the one that Dr Jack has built .

Borders of green conifer wall's stand tall to present a gentle contour .

Miles of black stained timber fences divide those acres with horses galore .

.'

Poem 50

Sweden

The lowlands are gentle rolling lowlands,
nestled by the grace of the Baltic sea .
The pine trees are precious in the lowlands
where flowing streams make electricity .
Sweden's peace is soft falling down like snow .
Sweden let it flow ,
may your flowers grow .
Somewhere in the silence of the lowlands is something
so precious and dear to me .

By Paul McCann